


Hallucinations

by Exonoesis



Series: Assassin's Creed  - 31 Writing Prompts [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Bleeding Effect, Exhaustion, Gen, Hallucinations, One Shot, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26944756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exonoesis/pseuds/Exonoesis
Summary: Too much time in the Animus and the threat of the apocalypse is pushing Desmond to his limits. The Bleeding Effect is becoming stronger and any slip may be his last.
Series: Assassin's Creed  - 31 Writing Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966639
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Hallucinations

**Author's Note:**

> The second in a series of Assassin's Creed based short-stories that I'm doing for a writing challenge.

The waiting room; a blinding white expanse of mirrored glass shards – endlessly twisting, suspended in nothingness. I called them glass anyway; who knew what they actually were. I’d tried investigating a few times but they just moved away from my touch; bewilderment reflecting along their surface as they continued their hypnotizing movement just out of reach. I doubted they were even tangible – just a construct of the machine; some sort of visual representation of fractured memories. 

Static buzzing filled the air, droning on in a constant tone that threatened to burrow into the depths of my mind; it was enough to drive even a normal person crazy, let alone me – physically and emotionally drained as I was. “Get me out already, what’s taking so long…?” As if on cue everything went dark and I opened my eyes to reality, slowly adjusting to the shadows that permeated the underground ruins. Though the walls here were in fact solid, it was hard to call this place real either. 

Holographic images flickered about – phantoms that spoke in cryptic murmurs. Soft blue veins of energy ran through the stone walls like circuitry, coming together at terminal looking structures; all of it an advanced yet ancient technology built by the First Civilization. We couldn’t begin to understand how it was made but we did know how it worked, vaguely. Cube-shaped batteries powered this place – and with enough of them we could unlock what we were calling a door.

Behind that shimmering blue barrier was, well, answers we hoped; a way to save humanity from near extinction. To be honest, Shaun understood these things more than I did, or so he claimed. At times it felt like everyone knew what was going on better than I did. More likely though I was just the only one still so upset by the uncertainty of it all. Glancing down at my left arm I half-expected to see a blade strapped to it, but my gaze was only met with a tremor that worked its way like a wave through my entire body; the fatigue was really getting to me.

Contrasting the pale glow of the ruins were our harsh lights; flood lamps that were placed around the equipment we had brought to turn this once Grand Temple into our base of operations. Equipment like the machine I had just come out of, the Animus. I rose slowly to sit, my neck sore and head starting to throb from being inside it for the past few hours; the stone slab that served as my resting place probably didn’t help either. Swinging my legs over I was a bit too quick to stand; knees giving out for just a moment. 

No one else saw me falter, or they just didn’t bother to say anything about it. I’d been pushing myself so hard, but what choice did I have? The first and only time I’d suggested someone else – my father to be exact – take my place in the Animus, it hadn’t ended well; my jaw still hurt from where he’d decked me. I got it, we were all tense, all had our own job to do, but god I just wanted a break from it all. The pressure of having to find the key that would save the world from a deadly solar flare was a bit much to put on one person.

“Desmond.” I straightened at my father practically barking my name, “Yeah…?” He almost looked like he wanted to apologize for earlier, almost. “Get yourself something to eat, then get back in the Animus.” This wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order; instructions as if I were a child or one of his underlings – which I guess I was the latter now. A break was a break though and I didn’t respond, just did what I was told; that’s all I did lately. Sometimes I swore my father could have easily stood on either side of this war; his attitude didn’t exactly scream freedom fighter.

The trunk where we kept our food supply was tucked out of the way; a little bit of a walk but I hoped stretching my legs would remind them how to work properly. I moved slowly past Shaun’s desk, nonchalantly using it as a support and making sure not to make eye-contact with the British man. I wasn’t feeling up for conversation right now – and boy could he talk once you got him started. Then there was something I couldn’t put my finger on, this pity in his eyes that stirred up a tangled knot of emotions I couldn’t begin to work through right now.

Stooping down to grab a can of whatever my hand found first I rose to see Shaun heading this way. He must have noticed something was up; I may have been an Assassin but right now I was far from a master of stealth and deception. I opened my can of food and began to dig in – not really caring what it was or how it tasted – hoping that Shaun would be kind enough to just let me eat. I tried not to stare as he grabbed a can for himself; picking up a few and mulling them other before putting them back before finally settling on something.

I tried to brace myself for what topic might be brought up; the First Civilization, the approaching apocalypse, the life of the ancestor I was reliving through the Animus, early American politics? Knowing Shaun it could have been anything, trying to predict the subject was hopeless, usually that was one of the things I liked most about talking to him. The past few nights we’d been up late together; he and Rebecca had been taking turns monitoring my Animus sessions. Between his searches for leads on the temple batteries, we would chat about anything and everything as I ran through the frontier in the shoes of my Native-American ancestor, Ratonhnhaké:ton.

From food and travel around the world to more personal matters, it felt like almost nothing was off-limits between us. He had so much knowledge – book smarts, but still – so often I simply let him talk knowing I didn’t have much to contribute except opinions and impressions. As I walked the streets of the past he would point out landmarks, tell me facts and important events surrounding them – he was so passionate about History; which I supposed you would have to be in order to be a Historian.

Too bad he couldn’t take my place in the Animus, he’d probably get a real kick out of it. He was hardly the athletic type though, I doubted he could keep up with an Assassin ancestor if he had any. Even if he did, the ancestor who held the answers was mine and dads. Closing my eyes I tried to calm the chaos in my mind; it was becoming impossible to keep my own thoughts straight, and the moment I opened my mouth to speak Shaun would know it too. At least – out of everyone – Shaun wouldn’t care if I sounded like an idiot; he wouldn’t expect anything else.

Opening my eyes once more I blinked a couple of times at what I was seeing; the ruins had vanished, replaced by a dense forest. In nearly every direction were rocks, trees, and thick undergrowth. I could smell the pine, feel the cool spring breeze even though I knew it was December. I remained calm, this wasn’t the first time I’d experienced these hallucinations; we called it the Bleeding Effect. Too much time in the Animus and my mind would time travel even without the machine. Still, it had never been this intense – this… real? I was starting to question what that word even meant anymore. 

“Desmond…? You alright?” A hand gripped my shoulder, firm, and still somehow gentle. I turned to see Shaun, worry plastered across his face, yet it was his clothing that drew my attention; his normal sweater replaced by the distinct red coat donned by the British soldiers that roamed the frontier. I instinctively recoiled, pulse quickening as I tried to tell myself it was just Shaun and none of this was real; the grass, the sky, all of it was an illusion. I mumbled an apology – trying to think of a way to downplay things – when I noticed that Shaun wasn’t the only one who had a change of attire. 

My own clothes had transformed; robes to match that of my ancestor. I could feel the texture of the fabric, what looked to be itchy and stiff cotton was actually softened with age and hung well on me despite having a much narrower frame. Fear was settling in now, memories of those who had been driven to madness by these hallucinations; who had lost their grip on reality. I couldn’t become trapped in another life, not with so much on the line, not with everyone counting on me. Bitterly all I could remember was a shallow promise, that they wouldn’t let me lose my mind to the Animus.

_“Someone help…”_

Shaking, I was shaking again, the small muscle twitches growing stronger as they radiated out; I had no idea how I was even standing at this point. My hand found its way to Shaun’s shoulder, clutching unto him like a lifeline; something I knew was real. I was being stupid, what could anyone else even do at this point? I didn’t dare look Shaun in the eyes, my gaze fell just past him to a river in the distance, watching the water flow quickly and a few foxes playing by the water's edge. I tightened my grip, wishing I could just blink my eyes and find myself in the waiting room.

“Bloody hell… William! Something’s wrong with your son over here! Could use some help if you wouldn’t mind!” I suddenly felt nauseous just thinking of my father coming over here, seeing me in this state. What did I even look like from their perspective, and what was he going to say about all this; something about me not being careful, about being mentally weak? Wrenching me from my thoughts the howls of wolves echoed through the treetops, a strong gust of wind bringing the sting of ash and smoke to my nostrils; trouble. This couldn’t get any worse, or so I thought.

Shaun’s face had remained his own, but as my father approached his entire being had been replaced with that of the Templar, Haytham Kenway. Enemy to our creed, ally to those who would see us all dead; logic left me and something primal took its place. I hadn’t even thought about swinging at him – it just happened. After that everything became a blur, the forest reeled and spun around us as my body reacted far beyond my control. I was lost, sunken into a dream-like state where there was no such thing as reality anymore.

Everything went dark again, when had I closed my eyes? Slowly I realized I hadn’t, I was staring up at the dark ceiling of the ruins. I never thought I’d be happy to see this place but – strange as it was – it was better than where I had been. The cold creeping up through my spine I finally registered where I was; on the ground, my father pinning me down yet his expression was of worry instead of anger. “That’s it, come back to us now.” Something tumbled out of my mouth – another apology – I wasn’t sure, but it was so soft I may as well have not said anything at all. 

My father released the grip he had on me, brought himself up to stand; though to me it seemed like he was looming over me; deciding my fate. Shaun’s interjection was more than welcome, “Sir, if I may. I think Desmond here needs a nap – or a therapist. Seeing as we’re in the middle of nowhere I suggest the former.” My father merely nodded, helping me to my feet and giving me a comforting pat on the back, “Go get some rest, son.” I simply nodded, glad this time to do as I was told.


End file.
